#vsatexas

She's crazy because she's here, and this is a place for crazy people. You don't think about it. She seems sane enough, if a little old to be attempting such a "hip". Her hair is braided in twenty little braids and the rest is dred-locked. She has an old-young face, bright eyes surrounded by wrinkles. Her voice is scarred, that's the only way you can think to describe it. Harsh and scratchy and demanding.

"You're going to fail," she says. "Hallmark is big and you are small and you won't get bigger if you keep acting like this."

You've seen people like this before. You know people like this. They think they're right. They think they're Jesus. Sometimes they snap out of it and sometimes they don't. They're justified, righteous. They smoke cigarettes and spend money they don't have. They yell.

She yells. Then abruptly switches topics. She talks about Governor Perry. She sees you.

"I'm Phyllis, I'm a Hallmark artist," she says smuggly. You introduce yourself as an intern. She tells you she's 72. You say you're only 19.

"I'm disabled. Are you disabled?" she asks, like it's a competition. Like only disabled people should talk to her.

"No, but my dad is," you say, even though you probably are too. Everyone probably is in some way.

She shows you a letter she's written to Rick Perry. Her handwriting is that of a child's. Her sentence structure isn't much better. Her thought process is obviously ill and it scares you to read it.

"Any disabled person will read that and agree," she tells you while you try to read. "You won't get it. Are you scared yet?"

You're scared because she's scary because she's so familiar. These words are words you've read before and you wonder why you took this job if it hit so close to home in such a hard way. Your boss tells you to take some folding chairs down the street and you jump on the opportunity. You want to get away from her.